Redemption: Weapon of the Crusade
by Tabbykitty101
Summary: Hilde, warlock of the crusade, has been captured by the forces of the Lich King prior to the Crusade's final assault. Will a force from her past prove to be her ultimate savior, or will it be an unwilling ally? Continuation of Honor Transcends
1. Prisoner

_Author's Note: This story is a continuation of characters originally presented in "Honor Transcends", also published on this site. I have republished it with more chapter breaks to make it easier to read. The final assault is beginning on Icecrown Citadel, and Lady Hilde has been captured by the forces of the Lich King. Please Read and Review!_

It was the incessant mutterings of the acolytes at her feet that convinced Hilde she was still alive. Light willing, in death at least the sibilant hissing would stop. She pried open her eyes against the frigid cold, blinking away the hoary feathers coagulating on her lashes. Six of the blasted Deathsworn knelt about a half-yard away in a crescent shape. Their immaculate black and purple robes fanned out around them, the hoods pulled up to shield their faces. Hilde gritted her teeth in hopeless anger; the tiny movement shattering the frozen tears streaking her face. The shards fell with a slight tinkle down to the icy floor.

She glanced down at the carved ice so temptingly near beneath her feet. Her toes missed the floor by bare inches, doubtless by design. It took several minutes of concentration, but finally she managed to swing them back and forth. The triumph was punctuated by stabbing pains from her shoulders, and a sudden rise in the cadence from the acolytes on the ground.

Hilde tried to avoid seeing them, the twin spikes of ice rammed through her shoulders, but every movement reminded her of their presence. The abomination that placed them had seemed to take great pleasure in ensuring they caused the maximum amount of pain. The first had been swift, the second slow; slow enough to allow her to hear each bone fracture and each muscle tear. The abom had smirked from his zipper-like face, and struck each with his flailing arms, the shock tearing screams from her unwilling lips. Now she hung in the frigid room, with the acolytes at her feet to keep her silent until the Lich King was ready to claim her soul. Just as he had with the other Maidens of the Crusade. His underlings had taken great pleasure in showing her their bodies, encased in ice, awaiting the Lich King's command to rise and begin their eternal service.

At least the blood had mostly stopped. Thin rivulets escaped the grip of the spikes, and froze in black streaks across what remained of her clothing. The eager Deathsworn had resorted to whips when their swords had proven useless. The love of a long-dead paladin shattered their blades each time they tried, even to the hooked rune blades of the death knights. The Deathsworn seemed to enjoy a more hands-on approach anyway. Hilde flexed her fingers grimly, hearing the crack of tendons around the spikes. She'd taken quite a few of them down before being captured, and they appeared to hold a grudge.

Hilde shifted her eyes to the opalescent doorway. Two death knights guarded the portal, more for appearance sake then real need she wagered. With six chanting monkeys cutting her off from her demon power and no expectation that the Argent Crusade would mount a rescue with another high value target in the citadel, there was little risk of escape. One had removed his helm and was playing bones with his rotting ghoul minion. The other remained standing with his arms crossed, cobalt eyes boring into her face from behind his thick saronite helm. Hilde summoned up the dregs of her courage, baring her teeth in defiance. There was no outward reaction, but Hilde let her lips relax into a triumphant smile nonetheless.

If I am to die here, I won't go down easily like the others. Morag the Butcher. Ja'nna Whisperleaf. Rue S'erayne. Alessandra. Picked off one by one by these monsters. Hilde growled softly in her throat. And to be used by that bastard who calls himself a king. Never!

A pinprick of heat started in her back, flushing through her body. Hilde clenched her fists, embracing the pain. Her back arched, a vicious scream bursting from her lips. For a moment, she could feel both the presence of the Light channeled through her flesh, and the welcoming flood of strength from her demon blood.

The chanting from the floor became shouts as spells were strengthened and tossed around her. The death knight playing bones paused, negligently flipping a hand her way. Crushing cold slammed through Hilde's mind, whipping away the demonic presence. She collapsed back against the frozen wall; shaking slightly as even the Light was driven back. The pain subsided, leaving her hollow and limp, and marking time through the growing bands of blood seeping down her chest. It couldn't be too much longer. She just had to last. They could claim in her death. In life she was still free.

She hung her head, panting weakly as the trickles of sweat slid down her face and froze. The lank strands of hair slithered down, hiding her face from the glaring blue eyes of the death knights at the door. Hilde closed her eyes, dredging up the last gasps of her strength.

It was a slight hint of warmth, and the wan glitter of light that opened her eyes, and directed her vision downwards. The translucent figure standing close by coaxed a small smile from her bruised lips.

"Christof," she whispered. "I did everything I could, but I don't think there's an escape this time."

Alone amidst the darkness and shuddering ice, the ghostly figure glimmered with a soft echo of what had been the presence of the Light in life. Thick plate armor sent dim sparkles into the frozen air. The figure reached out, hands gently touching her knee. Hilde closed her eyes briefly, feeling the warmth radiating upwards.

"They'll come for you," Christof whispered, his voice so thin it could almost be mistaken for imagination. He rested his head against her side, his arms circling around Hilde's legs. She shook her head slowly, feeling tears threatening to well up again from her burning eyes.

"They know about Lord Bolvar by now," she answered. "Even with what's left of him, he can help settle matters between the Alliance and the Horde. That's much more important then I am. I'm…I'm just a figurehead to the Crusade after all." Hilde's lips pursed slightly, derision slipping into her voice. "I'll be a statue at the frost-blighted tournament ruins after the Ashbringer chops my undead body into pieces." The expression slid off her face, and Hilde's eyes drifted closed. "At least for now, I get to see you again. I tried so hard to make you proud."

"No one could have done better," Christof whispered, gently stroking her legs. "Just try to hang on. I won't let you fall into his hands, I promise."


	2. Death Knight

Alexander Lightbane stood at the doorway, idly watching his fellow death knight Morgan Blightwell dicing with his ghoul. The ghoul drooled and scrambled dimly after the bones, back and forth across the icy floor. The thin scrabbling acted as a counter to the sibilant hissing of the Deathsworn further on in the room.

Lightbane cocked an eye towards the dais. The white-haired warlock was hanging limply against the ice, her hair covering her face. The trickling blood had created a lovely pattern against her pale skin. The Deathsworn had outdone themselves in making this one suffer. The screams alone coming from the Master's sanctum had made the other death knights salivate. Such pain nourished the dark places in the mind.

"She dead yet?" Blightwell rasped, taking the bones from his ghoul and hurling them at the wall. He tsked in irritation at the numbers and snapped his fingers for the rotted form to retrieve them.

"Not yet, but soon," Lightbane snorted.

"We could hurry her along."

"And shatter our runeswords? No blood will spill without our weapons," Lightbane sneered. "Besides, the Light-addled fools are probably bashing their heads against Lord Marrowgar by now. Stupid bag of bones better leave some alive enough to entertain us. We have plenty of time for this one to die and still return to the Master."

Blightwell chuckled, tossing his dice. "I want the woman. That mage who challenged the Master. All that cloth makes 'em soft. Makes 'em scream so prettily."

"The Master has plans for that one. Her and the Banshee wench." Lightbane smiled coldly. "Their suffering will be the stuff of legends."

He turned back to the dais as Blightwell chuckled behind him. The woman hadn't moved noticeably, save for small shudders rippling underneath her skin. Deep down in what remained of his former self, Lightbane felt a small measure of pity for the warlock's suffering.

_Such suffering is the price for fighting me!_ The shattering voice overran the emotion, snapping him back into focus. The Master was always there in the background, overshadowing the dim memories of sunlight and the scent of deep forest loam; the snippets of what had been life.

Lightbane whispered a startled oath, his hand dropping to the hilt of his sword. There was someone standing next to the warlock! The burning corona of light announced more clearly then anything else what it was. He bared his teeth in hatred. A bloody paladin, daring to sneak in here, daring to steal the Master's prize! He'd be elevated for delivering yet another of the light-sucking fools to the Master.

The glowing aura wavered, and Lightbane chuckled to himself. It was nothing but another decrepit ghost. So many existed inside the citadel it was hard to keep track. One must have wandered in, probably upset by the melee downstairs. It was strange though that it seemed to be embracing the warlock.

"Go away little ghost," Lightbane growled, "before I send for a necromancer to torture you."

The ghostly paladin straightened, his dark eyes focusing on Lightbane. The expression on his face made the death knight's hand tighten on the hilt of his sword. It was a look of utter hatred and stony resolve, blazing from his eyes. The ghost's hands slid from around the warlock's limbs as he faced the death knight fully.

"You see me," he whispered. "You were once what I was."

"Crazy ghost," Lightbane snapped. He flicked his fingertips in the ghost's direction, sending a dark bolt flying. The ghost vanished instantly. The bolt crashed into the wall, cracking the smooth ice.

"What was that for?" Blightwell called. He rattled the dice loudly.

"Freak of a ghost was in here," Lightbane answered, removing his hand from his sword hilt. "A nice death coil got rid of it." He chuckled to himself and turned back to the warlock.

The air shimmered, and the paladin's ghost appeared bare inches from his face. Translucent hands shot out and gripped Lightbane's arms. The death knight tried to shake him loose, but a bitter burning cold was surging through his limbs, locking him in place. The glowing aura from before was now an inferno raking his flesh. The ghost's fingers drilled into his armor like spikes. The paladin jerked him forward, glaring deep into Lightbane's eyes.

"You will help us," the ghost hissed. His hands slid into the armor, vanishing beneath the dark plate. The paladin smiled grimly and stepped forward. Lightbane tried to force his locked legs to move, scrabbling at his armor vainly.

Abruptly a wealth of images burned through his mind. An alpine forest, dripping with moss and loam twisted into a shivering horse speckled with brilliant drops of scarlet falling from soaring black crows. Lightbane shook his head, his hands digging into the rigid saronite helm. Other images flooded in, of the massive Icecrown glacier glittering with the armor of a mass of dead warriors. A glowing hammer of the light whirled across his vision, held by the white-haired warlock. A thin thread of blood dripped down her arm, snaking around the hilt. The image set off a maelstrom of emotion that burned through his entire body, gashing open the dark areas of his twisted soul.

Lightbane reeled forward, reflexively gasping. The pain and bitter cold was slowly subsiding. _Crazy freaking ghost paladin_, he grumbled.

Abruptly his hands raised, clenching and unclenching. Lightbane frowned and tried to drop them back to his sides. His hands stubbornly refused his direction and flexed more languidly. His arms stretched, fingers moving slowly before the hands balled into fists.

Lightbane fought off a rising tide of panic, reaching out for the soothing voice that was always there to comfort him. However, the enduring whispers of the Lich King were silent. There was another presence in his mind though, a presence that seemed to be laughing at his feeble attempts.

_You were a paladin once, and this is what you are reduced to? Bleating for your monster of a lord to save you?_

_ Who the hell are you, ghost?_ Lightbane screamed in his mind. He felt his face stretch into a smile, as his hand found the hilt of the sword. A steely hiss and the great serrated weapon tasted the chill air.

_I am paladin Christof Holemhein, and that's more then a twisted aberration like you deserves to know._

Lightbane tried to cry out, to warn Blightwell as his body began to pivot. The great sword swung back and sliced through the air with brutal force, burying itself in the death knight's neck. Muted choking noises spilled from Blightwell's mouth, as the sword wrenched itself free and smoothly hacked through his head. The ghoul cried out wordlessly, and collapsed into dust. Blightwell remained upright for a brief second before his body crashed loudly to the ground.

With the paladin in control, his body shifted and charged at the kneeling Deathsworn. Gasps and screams met the blade's downswing. Several tried to run, only to be jerked backwards and impaled. A hoarse cry burst from between his lips as Lightbane watched the terrified Deathsworn hacked into writhing pieces.

The paladin flicked the blade contemptuously, splattering blood over the icy floor before re-sheathing the weapon. Two steps and he stood before the warlock's body. The sudden up swelling of fear from the ghost nearly overwhelmed Lightbane's consciousness. His hand stretched out, smoothing back her tangled hair and sliding down to check her pulse. It still beat, though unsteadily; a slight thrumming barely stirring the flesh of her neck.

Lightbane grinned and concentrated hard, momentarily shoving aside the paladin's consciousness to wrap his fingers around her neck. Instantly the burning cold drove into his mind, shattering his will. He retreated, cursing softly.

"Do you know what will happen to you if I go out and attack the Lich King's forces openly? Whatever pathetic remnant of your soul remaining will be shredded for an eternity. You'll be blamed for being so weak as to let…what did you call me…a crazy ghost to take you over. Just go along, and help me get her out of here, and I'll let you go back to your screwed up existence."

_Why does this wench mean this much to you?_ Lightbane growled. _Our master has killed millions. Nothing can stand before the might of the Scourge._

"You were a paladin once. Maybe if you remember that, you'll understand why."

The paladin stretched out his hands and concentrated. Lightbane felt the burning of the shadowy runes etched into his flesh channeling the darkness out and around the woman's body. She moved forward with a slight jerk, and then with more firmness, until with a hideous sucking sound she came free from the wall and collapsed against the death knight. Freed of the spikes, the gaping wounds in her shoulders began to bleed copiously. He lowered her to the floor gently before turning to rummage through the bloodied pile of Deathsworn.

_She's going to die from those wounds in her shoulders_, Lightbane thought smugly.

Christof snorted as he dug through the bloodied piles. Lightbane felt the smile as he pulled out a small bag. Wrenching it open, several small red vials fell out.

"Spell users are predictable. They can't help themselves, so they pack insurance." Christof wrenched out the stopper and grabbed the warlock, forcing open her mouth. He up-ended the vial, pouring the contents down her throat. Small trails of crimson liquid dripped from each side of her lips and pooled beneath her head.

_She's already gone, psycho ghost._

"Come on, Hilde," Christof whispered. He pulled the stopper from the next vial with his teeth, pouring the contents over the gaping wounds in her shoulders. The gashed flesh shuddered and slowly began to knit together. The blood shimmered and vanished back into her pale skin as the elixir did its work. The paladin jerked open the last vial and pressed it to her mouth. Slowly, weakly, the warlock's throat moved and swallowed the mixture. Christof sighed gratefully and stood, quickly grabbing Blightwell's cloak to wrap around her body.

"How do I get to the Crusade's forces from here?"

_With the Lich King's prize? A miracle, Crazy Ghost. Better pull the Light out of your ass to lead your way!_

Lightbane felt the paladin frown. "It'd be better if you cooperated. You laid down for the Lich King, you should be able to for anyone else who holds your leash."

_I NEVER LAID DOWN FOR HIM!_

Christof chuckled and bent down, scooping up Hilde's unconscious body. He tossed her easily over one shoulder before once again pulling the great rune sword free. "If you still feel that much outrage, there may be some hope for you yet."

_Out and to the left_. Lightbane snapped. _We need to avoid the death knights guarding the Master, and go out through the plague technicians to reach the transporter._


	3. In the Citadel

The hallway outside was silent. The thin corridor stretched off into the distance both ways in disturbing vacancy. Glittering blue steaks danced in the walls in a diseased parody of the lights outside. Christof shifted Hilde slightly on his shoulder, taking a firmer grip as he glanced each way.

_Nervous, paladin?_ Lightbane sneered. _It's not as if you stick out or anything._

"And how do I stick out?" Christof asked mildly. "Is it the gleam of willpower in an otherwise sycophantic eye?"

_Sycophant!_ Lightbane raged in silence. _No death knight would ever be responsible for the mere removal of a body from the breaking rooms!_ _We are his chosen!_

"Yes, yes, chosen dogs. You bark loudly for a pup." Christof turned and strode down the hallway to the left, leading with the tip of the giant sword. "The answer is, of course, you would if you were told to. I'm not deaf; I did hear what you said to your friend. You were ordered to bring her back to your Master once she died. Why was that?"

Lightbane growled, but could see no real reason to lie. _The Master does not tell us his plans. We do as he wills. However, he has the others. He will use them against the Light-blasted fools. He wants them to see the futility of defying his will._

"Others?"

_The other Light-sucking witches. The orc, the two elves, and the human. They wait outside his sanctum for his call._

"I see," Christof murmured.

_She'd already be there if it weren't for the enchantment on her,_ Lightbane grumped. _The knights who took her lost their swords. Shattered them as if they were made of ice. Swords, arrows, bullets, all broke as soon as they touched her. Your wench must be loved by your blasted Light._ _If the Master wasn't so busy with the burned Alliance fool, we'd have seen if she could withstand Frostmourne._

"Probably not," Christof said cheerfully, pausing to glance backwards. The hall remained silent and empty, save for a far-off wailing. "There's only so much I could do against that thing. He'd have claimed two more souls to feast on."

_It was you! How did you…you're nothing but a ghost!_

Christof chuckled. "Not exactly a technique they teach in the Cathedral of Light. But I doubt you would remember your teachings anyway."

Small pattering noises, like the sound of falling rain, was the only warning. Abruptly a writhing brown mass undulated around the corner, coughing and guffawing. Christof stopped, raising the tip of his sword slightly. The geists paused, lifting their mucousy single eyes in tandem. The apparent leader stretched out his clawed hand, pointing at the death knight's burden.

"_Foooods fooor uuussss?_" it hissed. Its fellows coughed and gargled anxiously. One or two began licking and gnawing on their fingers eagerly.

Feeling the paladin's disgust and growing urge to attack, Lightbane shoved himself to the forefront and forced his lips to move. "It's for the Master."

"_Masssttterr. Yeeehawwhawww!_" The geists threw back their heads and cackled. They surged around the death knight, bouncing off down the hallway.

_The more bodies you leave, the faster we'll be discovered,_ Lightbane snapped. _There are worst things in the Citadel then those mindless freaks. And you'd better start moving, because those geists will sniff out what's left of those Deathsworn before too much longer._

"So helpful all of a sudden," Christof murmured, taking a firmer grip on his burden as they moved onwards. "I wonder why."

_Bah!_ Lightbane spit, withdrawing into himself. He noted with growing satisfaction that the paladin was moving towards the plague quarters. Discolored streaks had begun appearing in the shimmering ice walls. As the paladin swept the area ahead, he could just make out the shimmering blue clouds restlessly swirling along the floor and jetting out violently from the walls.

"Very clever," Christof murmured, abruptly stopping.

_That's the way out, paladin,_ Lightbane thought smugly.

"Through poison gas. You left out that little detail."

_Gas means nothing to the Lich King's chosen_.

Christof sighed. "I thought you decided to cooperate. I can't take her out this way. But, it seems as if you can only understand one thing."

Pain lanced throughout Lightbane's body. Tendrils of fire tore into his flesh, drawing a thin scream from his lips. Blackness swam across his vision. For endless minutes the pain seared on. When the darkness finally receded, Lightbane found himself staring at the floor on his knees.

_I don't understand, it hurts you too!_

"I'm dead, in case you forgot already," Christof said quietly. "If I have to destroy your body because you won't cooperate, it's only a minor annoyance. After all, you're just a tool left lying around by your master."

_How did you get like this?_ Lightbane asked, struggling to regain his composure. _No paladin training explains it. No paladin acts this way!_

Christof chuckled and stood, once again taking firm control of Lightbane's body. "Perhaps I'll show you eventually. Maybe it'll help you remember what you were. But until then, I need to know how to get to the Crusade's forces."

_It's not safe for anyone save the master to go into Sindragosa's lair,_ Lightbane answered. _And the Blood Halls…the Darkfallen will hear your woman's heartbeat and come running. The Master keeps them hungry. Also, that freak Putricide like to keep his domain flooded with his latest concoctions._

"So what is our most likely option?"

_There may be a way,_ Lightbane thought reluctantly. _The Deathsworn have been performing experiments on a dragon they captured in the Frozen Halls. If we could get a group of them alone, we could take their cloaks and blend in enough to get to the transporter. From there, your Light-sucking friends will probably be at the bottom of the citadel._

"I see. Lead the way, and please, no more surprises."

_Back the way we came, take the first right. I can't fathom your determination though. Even if you get her back to the Crusade, they will all die eventually and serve the Master._

Frigid quiet enveloped the death knight as they paced back down the halls. The soft clinking of his saronite boots on the floor echoed around them. Faint moaning threaded through the air; staccato bleats of pain as intrusive as the wind. Lightbane waited, but the paladin felt completely closed off from his inquiry.

It was an answering clink that snapped Lightbane back into focus. He felt the paladin take a firmer grip on his blade. Two figures emerged from the shadows ahead, closely followed by an undulating mass of geists. The geists flowed in a brown mass around their feet, coughing and guffawing eagerly.

"Lightbane," the first growled. "The Master wants his prize."

"And what did you do to those poor cultists? Deathwhisper will be upset at all the unusable pieces." The second sneered slightly, his hand sliding to the hilt of his sword.

Christof loosened his grip, letting Hilde slide down until her feet hit the floor, then propped her against the icy wall. Her knees buckled, and she crumpled down to the floor, still unconscious. The paladin licked his lips slightly, lifting the tip of his sword up.

_Geists will attack as a group. They are not very sophisticated. As for the knights, well, how good are you at using runes instead of your blasted Light?_

"Helping again? Very unlike a proper death knight," Christof murmured, his sword tip tracking the swaying of the geists. The two death knights remained still, cold smiles on their lips.

_Fine, call it curiosity,_ Lightbane snapped. _I help you, I want you to answer my question from earlier._

Lightbane felt an abrupt chill, as if frozen cords were seeping back through and away from his flesh. He could feel the solid grip of his sword cutting into his hands as the paladin withdrew. The sense of his presence remained hovering just on the edge of consciousness.

_Do anything to her, and even your Lich King won't be able to match how much you will suffer._

"Calm down, paladin. Deal's a deal." Lightbane grinned widely, shifting his sword to tap the tip against his palm. He took several steps forward, rolling his shoulders.

"Cultists bored me, what do you think?" Lightbane chuckled softly, and charged forward. He dropped one hand down, quickly feeling the runes carved into his body flash into life. The two death knights unsheathed their swords as one. The geists cackled and surged forward towards the slumped figure against the wall.

Lightbane slammed his fist into the lead geist, hurling it backwards and into another. He felt the runes flare, and the floor began to bubble and smoke with ribbons of red light. As each geist tried to get around him, smoke and the reek of decayed flesh billowed. He felt the pure thrill of slaughter race through his veins, his sword dancing and rending each ragged form. His great blade shimmered, each swipe crumbling the rotting flesh. All too soon, all that remained was a grotesque pile of festering bits of meat and torn cloth.

Lightbane reeled backwards, barely dodging the blade hissing in front of his eyes. The two death knights charged, their rune swords glowing fiercely. Lightbane charged one, slamming his shoulder into his chest and sending him sprawling. The second lunged, sword leveled at the opening between the arm and chest. Lightbane managed a turn, blocking with his own sword. Ice rippled up his blade as the second death knight whaled against him.

The first rolled to his feet and lunged back to the attack. Lightbane snarled and caught the blades on his. Dark energy spilled out along the edge, shattering the ice.

"Don't feel like helping me like you did her, do you?"

_Doesn't work that way_, Christof answered. _Besides, you seem to be doing just fine._

"Good…for…nothing…ghost!" Lightbane hissed, slamming his sword down against the first death knight. A hollow thunk echoed throughout the hall as it clanged off his breastplate. Bouncing back up, the serrated edge caught the edge of the death knight's helmet and gashed into his neck. Lightbane shoved forward, and then jerked the blade backwards. The death knight garbled and grabbed at his gushing throat, even as his head topped off to the side.

He spun a moment too slowly to completely catch the descending sword as the second death knight tore into his right pauldron. Lightbane hissed as the wound immediately began to burn with the necrotic putrefaction on the blade. He forced out a laugh, slapping the blade away contemptuously before charging. The knight stumbled, and Lightbane's hand found his throat. The other tore off his helmet, revealing a heavily scarred night elf. The elf narrowed his eyes, all but spitting in his face.

"Our Master sees your betrayal," the death knight hissed. Lightbane growled and slammed the elf's head against the rigid ice wall. The glowing blue eyes dimmed briefly, and the elf spat at him again.

"Our Master sees your betrayal!"

Lightbane slammed him harder against the wall, over and over. A dull crack permeated the repetitive thuds. Each time the elf's eyes rolled more slowly before refocusing on the death knight.

"He…sees…you, betrayer" the elf coughed, dark blood oozing from his ears.

Lightbane chuckled and turned his gauntleted arm, presenting the rigid spikes. "He won't see anything in a moment."

The elf flailed in a sudden burst of strength, but the death knight held firm. He raked the spikes over the elf's face, gouging into the undead flesh, ripping the glowing eyes from their sockets. The elf wailed; a sound just a quickly cut off by the forceful slamming of his head back against the wall. Lightbane crushed his fingers together, feeling the neck snap and the body become limp. He dropped it to the floor with an oath, pausing to spit on its mutilated face. Only then did he feel his right shoulder, and the thick rivulets of blood gushing underneath the heavy armor. The blood burned with the strength of the fallen death knight's diseased blade.

_Will you be all right?_

"Perfect," Lightbane snarled. "It needs to run its course, and then it'll heal itself up. The Master made us to last."

_I see_, Christof said quietly. _But for the moment, you are wounded and Hilde is still unconscious. I doubt you'd be able to handle another encounter._

"Yes, yes, your precious woman." Lightbane slid his sword into its sheath and grabbed Hilde's arm, lifting her up and tossing her over his shoulder. "I need maybe a half hour to be fully healed unless, of course, you want to work your paladin magic." He waited a brief moment, head tilted to the side, but the paladin was silent. "Allright then." He walked past the piled bodies, and turned quickly to the right.

The new corridor was steeped in a dusky blue glow, lit by the shimmers of light darting through the crystalline walls. Lightbane stalked quickly down the passage, turning left, then right, then right again, until a hallway with a small network of doors was revealed. He went to the first and shouldered it open.

Behind the thick steel doors was a small storage area full of barrels and crates. Many of the crates bore both Alliance and Horde symbols stenciled on their wooden sides. Lightbane grunted and dropped Hilde to the floor before wrestling a barrel in front of the door.

_Isn't this asking to be trapped in here?_

"We don't have much choice, do we pallie boy? I need to heal up, and we need to avoid detection. Your friends below must be kicking up quite a distraction, if the Master only sent two knights to check on your woman."

_How hideous is his power, to turn a paladin into a thing that enjoys killing so much_, Christof mused.

"We serve him without pity or remorse. Such things are useless fripperies of the living."

_And yet you felt pity when Hilde was on the wall, or else I wouldn't have been able to reach you. What did he do to you, former brother?_

"I…I don't remember," Lightbane said abruptly, seating himself against the wall. "I am as I have always been." He fastened his eyes on the door while running his hand up under his armor. The wound still burned, but the blood flow was slowing. "Besides, you need to fulfill your bargain. I said I'd help if you answered my question from earlier."

_You asked two. You only get one._

"Cheeky ghost," Lightbane whistled. "Fine then, how did you get this way? It's obvious the Master caused your death, but one such as you…should have been in our ranks."

_I'll show you my death, in hopes that you will remember your life._


	4. Christof

The eerie light of Icecrown's dawn was beginning to steal over the horizon; a putrid green and blue band barely touching the bitter whiteness below. Murmurs and clinking arose from the large camp stirring in the pre-dawn gloom. Near the camp's head, a small group of squires were arduously sweeping the ground marked out by four large Alliance flags under the supervision of Falric and Marwyn; the Prince's two captains.

Christof Holemhein, paladin of Stormwind, stood outside his ragged tent brushing his warhorse. Every so often, he offered the stallion a small handful of coarse flour; all that was left of their meager stores. Castellian licked it up slowly, snorting every so often. Christof patted his broad forehead, itching underneath the horse's heavy armor. Few soldiers still had their horses after the winter sieges. They made easy prey for the squittering arachnid monsters that lived below the surface in this place.

He didn't have to look behind to see the burned out hulks of siege equipment and barricades brought up from the beach camp, now abandoned on the harsh glacier. What the undead had failed to obliterate in their attacks, the elements had destroyed. The winter had been cruel during their march to the glacier. Whole squadrons had died; torn to pieces while Prince Arthas scourged them forward. The remnants were a sorry lot. A terrible malaise, and fear of the Prince, had been spreading through the ranks. Whispers were rampant that darkness had taken him, and was waiting to take them all in this Light-forsaken land. The Prince no longer even bore his hammer of the Light, and instead wielded that sickening rune sword he'd found in the blight.

Christof closed his eyes and leaned against Castellian, desperately trying to dredge up memories of light and warmth and happiness. His fingers sought out the small lock of ivory hair he carried tied around his wrist. Hilde should be in Stormwind by now, under Vivian's care. It was the only thing he didn't regret about this mission. He couldn't have subjected her to the horrors he'd seen in Northrend, as much as he missed her every day. And while Vivian was a self-interested, demanding witch, she did owe him. Hilde would be as safe in Stormwind as with her as she would have been with him.

A harsh shout broke his reverie, and pulled his eyes forward. Prince Arthas had emerged from his tent and was stalking over to the cleared ground. Falric and Marwyn had fallen to their knees, and the squires were racing in all directions. Christof narrowed his eyes and watched as the Prince tapped each of his Captains with his accursed blade, then turned to give orders to the squires. Even from this distance, he could see the sinister smile crossing Arthas' lips.

_So it's to be today, _Christof thought grimly. He closed his eyes and leaned against Castellian's comforting warmth. _By the Light, today we all die_.

He dropped one hand down to lightly touch his war hammer. Unlike so many of the other paladins, Arthas included, his still burned incandescently with the presence of the Light. Warmth radiated up through his fingers, but the soothing aura felt tinged with inexplicable sadness. Christof opened his eyes, blindly seeing the sheer cliff walls ringing the valley. There was no escape there; no escape other then back the way they'd come.

_I've done all I could to live as a true paladin of the Light. Even to leading my men here, to fighting besides a spoiled Prince, to following him to this land of death and blight. _Christof stroked Castellian's nose gently. _All that remains is dying as a true warrior of the Light. I only wish I could have seen you one last time, Hilde, and see you smile again. I won't be able to keep my promise to you now._ _There is something I can do, however. By the Light, King Wrynn will know about the Prince's actions._

He straightened as one of the squires came rushing towards his tent. The boy stopped breathlessly, saluting the paladin.

"His Majesty the Prince wishes all companies to form up at the head of the camp within one hour!"

Christof nodded at the boy, who bowed and rushed off to the next encampment. He gave one last pat to Castellian and went into his tent. The interior was a jumbled mess of ragged bedrolls, bits of mended armor, scraps and broken weapons from the hard campaign. His remaining men, Simon Magebane and Thorvald Irongrip were just finishing up the stale crusts and watery gruel that comprised breakfast. Simon glanced up, crust in hand. The campaign had left the once jovial paladin twitchy and somewhat unsettled in mind.

"What's the word, Cap? Something about a formation review?"

"Yer as white as a sheet, Captain," Thorvald growled out. The dwarf was brushing out his bushy red beard, preparing to coil it up for battle. If anything, the endless slaughter had given the dwarf nearly as much pleasure as the Prince seemed to exude. They'd never spoken openly about that night in Southshore, although Christof hadn't forgotten the dwarf's actions towards his ward. It was a debt that unfortunately would never be rectified.

"Yes, the Prince wants all the forces to assemble in an hour," Christof said, glancing down at the table.

"Maybe we're going home!" Simon said eagerly, gnawing on his crust. "There's nothing in this Light-forsaken wilderness that can help with the plague. Of course, that must be it; the Prince has finally seen reason!" He leaned closer to the dwarf. "It makes sense, doesn't it?"

Thorvald snorted. "We'd already be packing if that was the case, lad. More then likely Prince Have-Your-Arse heard of some other mystical turnip hidden in a cave around here, and wants us to wade through another army of undead to get it for him."

"There's something I want you two to do, and I don't want you to argue," Christof said slowly. Simon dropped his crust, while Thorvald leaned forward, eyes narrowed sharply.

"What is it, Cap? Thor's right, you look awful."

"I want you two not to form up with the others. In fact, I want you both to leave your armor here. Go beg, borrow, or steal yourself some chainmail and get back here."

"Cap, seriously, this is sounding a bit strange."

"Do what I say, Simon. And get yourselves some non-descript cloaks while you're at it. I want you both back here within a half hour."

Both men rose, quizzical looks on their faces, but obediently headed out into the dawn gloom. Christof sighed and knelt by the table, quickly flipping open his journal. He gripped the pencil tightly, and began to write.

_Icecrown Glacier_

_ I know in my heart that this will be my last entry in this journal. I faithfully documented all I saw here in this forsaken land, in hopes that all the sacrifices made by brave men and women would not be forgotten. However, by the Light, I know we have failed. We have failed to combat the plague of undeath by coming here, and we have failed to stop a monstrous evil from being unleashed upon the world._

_ To whoever reads these pages, know that Prince Arthas is insane. I do not know when the slide from dedication to obsession began, but I know at the heart of it is the dark blade Frostmourne that he liberated from the cavern in the blight zone. He is no longer a paladin of the Light, and I believe it is he who will encompass our demise._

_ I fear, more then anything, becoming one of the mindless undead who haunt these barren areas of the north. I have seen many of our own men claimed and return to fight against us. Good or bad, they were all of the light. What is the monstrous power that corrupts them and drives them against their former brethren? I may never know that answer. I believe that Prince Arthas does, and is running us all into its jaws with feverish eagerness._

_ My last thoughts are of the service that I loved, and the child I rescued in the festering ruins of Loredaeron. I remain always a true student of the Light. My last act will be to try to save the lives the men who depended on me to lead them home safely. May the Light grant it is so._

Christof bit his lip, and turned to the back of the journal. There, tucked carefully between the pages, were three yellowed sheets covered in narrow writing and diagrams. He smoothed them open gently, hearing the aged paper crack.

They'd been halfway across the rotting remains of Lordaeron when he'd found them at the bottom of his saddlebag. Three pages that had fallen free from the spell book Hilde had rescued from Scholomance. Just seeing them had reminded him of the many nights they'd spent by the campfire, with her serious face pressed into the book, asking him what this or that word meant while Thorvald had glowered from across the camp. However, it was the title of the pages that had given him pause then, and pulled at his mind now.

"Treatise on the Soulstone; functional protection for the warrior demonologist."

Christof placed his war hammer on the table, his finger tracing along the crabbed sentences. Many of the words were blurred or obscured by time, but enough remained that the spell itself was still intelligible. He signed softly, and placed a hand on the hilt of his weapon. It glowed brightly at his touch, the warmth of the Light stealing through him.

"By the Light, please, let this work." _I don't want to end up like those things in Lordaeron, by the Light, please!_

Christof's lips moved, intoning the simple spell. Pain rolled over him in a violent wave; gashing knives that seemed to force their way into his very soul. His hand felt glued to the hammer, as if his life-force was being drawn deep into the weapon. It was glowing wildly, pulsing in sheets of amber light in time to his racing heartbeat.

_The Light! Please help me do this!_

The light poured into him, brimming behind his eyes and wrapping his entire body in warmth. The pain receded; leaving him gasping against the table. Sweat dripped down his face. Christof slowly moved his hand off the hammer and flexed his fingers. Humming at the edge of his vision, he could feel a difference in the weapon. If anything, the presence of the Light was even stronger then before.

_Well, it was worth a shot_, he chuckled softly to himself, tucking the pages securely back inside and closing the journal. He had just risen when the tent flap opened, and his two men entered. Both were lightly armored in chain mail shirts and greaves, with torn burlap cloaks thrown over the top.

"Cap…"

Christof waved his hand. "I'm not going to explain this to you. We've all served together for a long time, and you know I would never willingly steer you wrong." He pushed his war hammer into Simon's startled hands, and handed his journal to Thorvald. "You can feel the wrongness of this whole journey. We should have listened to what the Light was trying to tell us. And now, there's nothing more to do then this."

Christof straightened, staring hard at both men. Simon was still gaping like a fish, nervously licking his lips. Thorvald was thoughtfully tapping the journal against his lips.

"I want you two to take Castellian. He's big enough he can support you both. Dump his armor and wait at the back of the camp. Make sure no one sees you." Christof chuckled softly. "I think you'll know what to do when it happens."

"It's that bad, aye Captain?" the dwarf finally said.

Christof nodded. Simon started wildly, his eyes wide as saucers.

"What, Cap? What's that bad? Are we going to be attacked? Is that what the formation is all about?"

"Thorvald, we have unfinished business between us."

The dwarf shuffled, dropping his eyes. Christof frowned at him, even as Simon danced from foot to foot, desperately trying to catch his eye.

"I know why you hated her, but attempting to kill a child violates all that the Light stands for. I wanted to be the one to make you atone for your actions but the Light has other plans. This last task I lay on you. Get that journal to the King in Stormwind or, failing that to our brethren in the Cathedral of Light. They need to know what has happened on this doomed campaign. And Simon…" He clapped the nervous paladin on the shoulder. "I want you to find Hilde and give her my hammer. It may bring her some comfort after…"

"Don't talk like that, Cap! We're all going home together! I'll just hold this for you and here…" Simon eagerly pressed his own hammer into Christof's hands. "We'll trade, just for today! Just holding it for you, ok?"

"Allright, Simon," Christof said sadly, taking the weapon. "Now, go, the both of you, and may the Light keep you safe."

"Cap?" Simon asked. Thorvald shook his head and grabbed his arm, pulling the other paladin out of the tent.

"C'mon lad, we've got something to do. You know, mayhap you should let me hold that hammer…"

Christof sighed and rubbed his hand over his face. Mechanically, he forced himself to start equipping his heavy plate mail armor. Each stay and buckle was another nail in his heart. He had just slipped on his helm and stepped outside the tent when the first trumpets began to sound. He fell in with the crowd lining up between the tattered Alliance flags, noting the despair evident on the scarred faces around him.

Prince Arthas was standing in front of the massed army, his captains by his side. His once golden hair was as coldly white as the surrounding glacier, and billowed slightly in the wind. His dark cloak shuddered in the breeze. As always, his hand rested on the hilt of Frostmourne. Just looking at the graven hilt of the dark weapon made Christof queasy. The pure menace the blade exuded sickened the paladin even from yards away. Glancing at the hardened faces around him, he could only see one or two at the most who seemed capable of detecting the evil flowing in waves around the Prince.

Falric and Marwyn stepped forward, motioning for silence. A trumpeter nearby blew a quick blat on his horn. The mass quieted, staring expectantly forward at the Prince. His cold eyes raked the assembly; his fingers continuously caressing the hilt of Frostmourne. He finally tossed back his head, and fixed them all with a pointed stare.

"Brave men and women of Lordaeron, our journey has been long and perilous. We have fought for our homeland here, on the frigid mountaintops of this barren land, to wrest the secrets of the plague from the hidden forces that seek our destruction. Well, my loyal subjects, our journey has reached its end."

He unsheathed his sword in a single motion; its deep indigo and fungal green sheen rippling like a frenzied wave on the stormy seas. Brilliant blue runes flared along the serrated blade, winking and vanishing beneath the gloom. Christof caught his breath. The glow was flaring and dying in unison with the Prince's eyes.

"Do you mean we are going home, my lord?" One of the captains up front asked uncertainly. Arthas fixed him with a cold smile.

"Frostmourne has shown me the way to combat the plague. Through it, and with the everlasting power of its maker we shall all be reborn. Death itself shall serve our ends, and our righteousness shall wash over all of Azeroth!" He dropped the sword until the tip point at the massed army. "I shall bring a new age to the world, an age without suffering and pain. The Lich King calls, my brethren, and Frostmourne hungers!"

Arthas and his captains charged forward, even as the first line of soldiers were drawing their weapons. With a maniacal laugh, Arthas rammed Frostmourne through one of the hapless soldiers; his plate armor crumpling beneath the blade. He kicked the body free, and waved the blade over the soldier's dying face. Christof felt a tremor of pure horror as the bright soul of the soldier wicked upwards and vanished into the frozen runes of the blade.

Pandemonium exploded among the huddled soldiers. Many went on desperate offense; weapons hacking randomly at the laughing figure of the Prince and his fellows. Others bolted in all directions, screaming wildly. Christof grimly wielded Simon's hammer and charged towards the fray.

Shouts and screams, wild grunts and battle cries filled the air. The Prince vanished beneath a pile of flailing bodies. Other knots formed around Falric and Marwyn. The two captains were laughing wildly; brutally slashing at all who came near. Christof whispered a quick prayer to the Light, and lunged for the biggest mob.

A vast sickness ripped through his gullet; a wave of wrongness so vast it slithered up from the blighted ground to seize the paladin by the throat. Christof dropped to his knees, clawing at his neck. The throng of attackers screamed and went flying. Fully armored men cart wheeled overhead; their armor winking in the weak sunlight to crash in heaps throughout the camp. Sickening thuds and cracks interspersed with horrid screams and dying wails from the piles of soldiers split the air. Arthas stood in his newly-cleared space, drinking in the chaos and laughing.

"And now, taste the power bestowed upon me!"

The Prince whipped Frostmourne in a violent circle. Necrotic tendrils spawned from the blade and arched down into the still bodies strewn along the ice. The sword pulsed with incandescent cobalt light. Each pulse strengthened the tendrils, and sent them flying across the fallen soldiers. The bolts latched on, growing ever larger as they fed on the fallen's souls. Those struggling to rise stopped, and those still on their feet drew back, seeking to put as much space between them and the tendrils as possible.

Christof was still close enough to see the first body begin to twitch. His mind blanked in terror as the fallen warriors moved beneath the violet tendrils. Mouths still gushing with their lifeblood, limbs torn and broken hanging useless; nevertheless the newly slain were rising to the Prince's command. Their empty eyes burned with the same blue-white flame as the sword's runes. They looked fawningly towards Arthas then, with a hiss, began moving towards the survivors.

"For the Light, and the Alliance!" Christof bellowed, pulling himself up and brandishing his hammer. The call began to echo along the line, as the warriors stood. The paladin charged, his hammer glowing brightly as he slammed it into the relentless undead. Flickers on the edge of his vision told of similar battles on either side. The din shook the glacier below, cracking the ice with their fury. He felt the strength of the Light flowing through him, giving him the strength to block the mindless blows of the undead.

_By the Light, give me an honorable death!_

A violet shimmer washed over his vision, and a sucking whirlpool of darkness slammed against the paladin. Sky and ground tumbled end over end, ringing with the desperate screams of those still alive. Christof hit the unbending surface of the glacier with a sickening thud, hearing his ribs and shoulder snap from the force. Blood poured into his mouth. Christof spat and struggled to rise. Simon's hammer had bounced out of his grip, and now lay several yards away on the ice. All around him were bodies. Soft wails and weeping still crept from beneath shattered helms. Otherwise, the soft howling of the wind filled the emptiness.

Footsteps crunched on the snow behind him. Turning his head slightly, Christof saw the long necrotic tendrils flash out. A wave of the fallen lifted up into the air, backs bent at impossible angles. The few still living screamed feebly. Abruptly, their chests exploded in a flash of wet meat and steaming blood. The tendrils withdrew and the bodies collapsed. The next row began their rise, and sundry explosion.

_Hopeless_, Christof thought bitterly. He worked his fingers up to grasp the small band of ivory hair around his wrist. He pulled it free, clenching it tightly as the thudding of the dropping bodies got closer.

_I did all I could, but it wasn't enough. By the Light, what will be enough to stop this?_

Pain lanced through him as his body rose in the air. Christof forced his eyes open, focusing on the wan sky far above. The clouds obscured the sun, but tiny rays still glittered at the edge of the clouds. Even focused on the dim light he still heard the thud, and felt the blood spray on his face as the tendril did its work. His hand clenched tighter, and went limp.

Darkness swam up gratefully around him; a warm, comforting aura pulling him away from the devastated scene below. Peace filled his mind. The horror was gone, and all that remained was the embrace of the Light.

Cold ripped through the cocoon of peace, shattering the darkness. The world swam back into focus in hideous detail. Christof looked around wildly. All around him, struggling souls writhed in the grip of thick, frozen bands of purple extended from the gorging Frostmourne. He flailed, vainly seeking an escape from the punishing coldness tearing into his soul. The purple tentacles humped up, drawing him inexorably towards the glittering sword. Souls all around him wailed in anguish as they vanished into its depths.

A thin band of light pulsed around his struggling soul. It threaded into the tightening indigo noose, disappearing briefly then flaring into vibrant life. It burrowed into Christof's heart; a violent fire fighting Frostmourne's control. His slow path towards the sword stuttered, and then stopped as the purple tendril exploded into nothingness.

The band of light wrapped around his consciousness tightly, and jerked backwards. Christof felt himself pulled away, up and over the scene; speeding away over the glacier and far from the horrific site of undead rebirth. The glacier reeled away endlessly, dotted with the burned-out hulks of the abandoned equipment. It was an endless and instant journey down, down to a small dot speeding away across the ice.

It was the glow that finally captured his attention. While the entire world seemed faded into monochrome dullness, a brilliant golden light filled his vision. Christof forced himself to focus on the dot, and the glow.

The sense of flying vanished, and abruptly he was floating besides Castellian. His brave horse was running flat out across the snow; foam dripping from his bridle and muzzle. Simon was crouched low on his neck, alternately crying and muttering to himself. Thorvald was holding on behind him, bouncing around like a sack of potatoes. As he watched, the dwarf reached down to send a pulse of healing into the horse's heaving frame.

But it was the glow from the hammer that marked him. His war hammer, bouncing against Simon's leg, was burning with fire. The thin tendril of Light glittered between him and the weapon. Christof felt a desperate laugh bubble up, coughing into the silence.

_It did work. I am saved, but what have I done? What have I become?_


	5. Hilde

"Clever, paladin, using a warlock spell to save yourself," Lightbane muttered. The images reminded him of something just on the edge of his memory. Heavy trees, and the scent of loam and blood, punctuated with animal screams. He tried to shake away the thoughts, only to have them cloud back into his mind.

_Not as clever as you might think. I was bound to the hammer as securely as I would have been bound to Frostmourne, had the Light not saved me. Trapped as I was, I was a witness to Thorvald's treachery._ Lightbane felt a wave of sadness flow from the ghost. _The dwarf read and burned my journal that very first night. He believed me too corrupted by shadow forces for my words to be trusted. Simon became completely unhinged by what happened. Thorvald did not have to try very hard to take my hammer from him._

"Sucks to be you, for sure," Lightbane chuckled. He felt a whip-snap stab of the ghost's anger.

_To be trapped and forced to watch atrocities committed for greed and revenge for years…how is that so different from you, death knight? At least I stayed true to what I believed in. You, and all our fallen brothers, traded our service to the Light for the mutterings of a crazed noble who should have been put down long ago. Who exactly does it suck to be?_

"Miserable ghost!" Lightbane snapped. "You are no different then me! You took the coward's way out to save yourself! You reaped exactly what you deserve!"

_We agree on that, death knight_, Christof snarled, _save for one important difference. I never lapped at the boots of my killer to receive his crumbs_.

"Do you often talk to yourself like this?"

The calm voice scattered Lightbane's concentration. His eyes jerked up to see Hilde staring at him. Her pale green eyes slid over him, coolly measuring his form. One hand was holding the fold of the dark cloak tight to her body, as she ran the other through her tousled and blood-stained hair. Lightbane cursed silently. She'd been so quiet in stirring he'd missed the obvious audience to his argument with the damned ghost.

"You were the one staring at me when I was on the wall. Are you one of the Ebon Blade?"

Lightbane shook his head slowly. He stretched out for the paladin, but he seemed unwilling to come to the forefront. _Fine, leave this to me, damn ghost._

"I see," she said slowly, glancing down. She flashed her eyes back up to Lightbane. He noticed absently they were rapidly changing color; from the weak green to a deep, demonic emerald. Something stirred in the back of his mind, and he felt himself thrown aside.

"Hilde, stop!" Christof barked. "It's me!"

"You really are a strange creature," she answered, pulling herself up. Flickers of fire danced across her fingers. "Your misery will soon be over."

Christof charged her, knocking the warlock back against the crates and pinning her to the floor. Hilde's breath hissed out as she hit; thrashing underneath his weight. He quickly trapped her hands against the floor and grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him.

_As soon as she gets her breath back…_Lightbane growled.

"I know!" Christof muttered. "Hilde, listen to me. It's Christof."

"Prove it," she snapped.

He dropped his hand, tracing the old scar running from her right shoulder down to her upper chest. "I'm sure several people probably know about this scar, and what caused it. But how many know you were wearing a blue dress when Thorivald attacked you in Southshore? Or that we were staying in Room 4?"

Hilde stopped struggling, a thin veil of tears misting her eyes. She pulled her hands free before wrapping her arms around him tightly. "It really is you. But how?"

Christof hugged her back, stroking her tangled hair. Lightbane felt vaguely uncomfortable at being forced to eavesdrop on such a reunion, but was unable to regain enough control to turn away. He sat miserably in the back of his own mind, flooded with second-hand emotions from the ghost. It was pain and happiness tearing at his throat, raking up long-forgotten emotions. Lightbane wanted to scream from the torture of it.

"I took this one over," Christof said, pulling back slightly to indicate Lightbane's body. "He still had enough emotions left to make him susceptible. He's cooperating, more or less. I promised to turn him loose once you're safe."

"Can he be trusted?" she asked, running her fingers lightly down the cold saronite helm and over his exposed face.

"To a point I think."

_I'll get your damn woman out of here, you know that._ Lightbane tried to choke back the burning feelings flooding through his heart. _Just stop, please._

"He says he'll do what he said. It seems he doesn't like to be reminded of how the living feels."

"Most death knights I've known from the Ebon Blade wear the fury at all they've lost like a bludgeon. It's strange to see one who doesn't want to remember. But," Hilde shrugged, "not everyone does."

Christof released her, holding out a hand to help her up. Hilde grabbed on firmly, flicking the cloak back slightly. She sighed at the sight and shook her head.

"Damn Deathsworn could have left some of my clothes intact!"

"Hilde, do you know what the Crusade's attack plan was?"

She glanced up, tapping her lip softly and frowning. "Is he still in contact with the Lich King?"

Christof shook his head. "I fixed that."

"Good, though I don't know much," Hilde sighed. "Tirion assigned me to help Jaina Proudmoore with her diversion into the areas around the citadel. What I do know is he was planning on going in the front door. I would guess he'd go straight to Arthas's hiding place."

A hollow boom abruptly echoed throughout the chamber. The frozen walls crazed with the force; the shuddering blue and green streams thrashing violently. Hilde tilted her head slightly.

"Saronite bombs. They can't be too far away."

"I'm going to let our friend be back in charge. He knows this place better then we do." At Hilde's worried look, Christof squeezed her hand. "I'll be there to take over in an instant if something happens."

Lightbane felt a cool rush, and the tingling that announced he was once again in full control of his body. The nagging sense of the paladin lurking just behind his eyes remained strong however. He shook his head, trying not to notice Hilde immediately dropping his hand. The warlock had moved slightly away, and was wrestling the barrel away from the door. Lightbane took two steps and shoved her aside.

"You may have the paladin fooled, but not me," he growled. "I did spend hours watching you on the wall after all. Even with those potions he forced down your throat, you barely have enough strength to stand. So just get back and let me deal with whatever is out there."

"Is that what you think?" Hilde snapped, tossing back her head. "I may not be as strong as I usually am but…" She tossed back a corner of the cloak. Traced in blood on her upper thigh was a convoluted demonic symbol glittering with fetid demon fire. "I can take care of myself."

_Not the best way to start_, Christof mused. _Maybe I should have warned you that Hilde's stubborn._

Lightbane snorted. "Whatever. But, as your friend told you, I do know these halls. If you feel up to whatever has doubtless been stirred up by now because of your buddies in the Crusade, lead the way."

Hilde glared at him, but stepped back. Lightbane gave the barrel a hard shove, sending it crashing against the crates. He gripped the door handle firmly while grabbing for his sword with the other. Hilde reached out, gently restraining him with a pale hand.

"You're right, we should be cautious." She turned her hand palm up, her lips moving soundlessly. Traces of demonic runes flared into being on her skin; glowing with a brilliant indigo light. The wreathing tendrils burned up through her fingers, coalescing into a small greenish orb.

Lightbane drew back slightly as the orb blinked at him. A large orange iris, much like a cat's, focused in closely. Hilde smiled slightly and tossed it towards the door. The dusky orb blinked again before wiggling underneath the sill and vanishing out into the hallway.

Hilde closed her eyes, her head tracking back and forth. "Which way do we need to head?"

"Left, towards the spire. What is that thing?"

"An eye of Kilrog. A fairly harmless demonic beast, but good to use for scouting." She opened her eyes. "This immediate hallway is clear."

Lightbane slowly pulled open the door and edged out. It was as she said; clear in both directions. He motioned her out impatiently. Hilde followed more slowly, glancing each way. Lightbane hissed slightly and grabbed her arm, pulling her down the hallway.

"You're so eager all of a sudden," she murmured.

"I don't want to be caught," Lightbane snapped. "We're close to Sindragosa's aerie. She would think nothing of destroying any interlopers who dared to enter her domain."

"Do you really think you can go back once this is over?"

"Of course," Lightbane growled. "Your paladin ghost is blocking the Lich King from my mind. Once he and you are far away, I'll…"

"Be the one who allowed yourself to be controlled," Hilde finished. "I've felt the extent of his _mercy_. I doubt much exists for those who defy him."

"You Light-sucking fools are all the same. You want to believe anyone can be saved, when it just isn't true. Look elsewhere for an ally, woman. I'm doing this just to get you and your crazy ghost whatever out of my unlife."

"You assume the Crusade will fail. What if we win?"

"The Lich King is power beyond even that of your Light. It won't happen."

Hilde sighed. "I've been around paladins for years, and it seems they are still as stubborn and thickheaded in death as life." She shrugged gently. "Well, if you change your mind, I'm sure I could put in a good word for you with the Ebon Blade."

_Think about it_, Christof sighed in his mind.

"I don't need your advice, or the advice of your woman," Lightbane snorted. Hilde chuckled.

"You really do sound a bit crazy talking to yourself like that."

Shadows moved far ahead in the corridor. Lightbane smiled, unsheathing his sword. Hilde eyed him sideways, shaking her head.

"Men. Dead or not, they're still like children."

The shadows resolved into a small knot of Deathsworn. Their voluminous purple robes flapped agitatedly as they slid to a stop before the pair. Their eyes sought out the death knight, then riveted on Hilde.

"It's the Crusade woman!"

Hilde gave a little bow as she slid her hand up the inside of the cloak. "And you are all dead."

One quick motion and the cloak was flying towards the Deathsworn. Hilde charged forward, an ominous purple and green fire springing up around her feet. The choking aura shimmered upwards through her skin, surrounding her body in darkness. Lightbane cocked an eyebrow, admiring her nearly-nude form in spite of himself. The huge tattoo on her back in particular caught his eye. The intricate sword was flickering with a bright golden light.

_Stop that and go help her!_

A horrific scream echoed through the halls. Where Hilde had stood was now a massive purple demon, its face shadowed with demonic runes. Massive leathery wings brushed the walls. Fire raged around its body as it thrashed around with its massive claws. The screams of the Deathsworn sounded thinly in the air. Lightbane watched in appreciation as the claws gouged and tore into resisting flesh, sending gobbets of gore throughout the frozen hall. He negligently reached out as one attempted to run; snaring it in his shadow grip and impaling him on his sword. Two more attempted to run, only to be surrounded by glimmering tendrils of purple springing from the demon's palms. The screams died away as the Deathsworn jerked limply and fell, their souls consumed by the growling demon before him.

"She doesn't appear to need my help," Lightbane chuckled softly. He yanked the lifeless Deathsworn off his sword.

_You have no idea, do you?_

The demon form was melting slowly; purple shadows dripping away. Hilde dropped to her knees, retching as her human form returned. Lightbane frowned and tapped her on the shoulder. Her entire body was trembling and awash in sweat.

"It's nothing," she panted, grunting in pain. "It'll stop in a moment."

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Lightbane said, glancing over her body. She didn't appear newly wounded, although the sword tattoo on her back was glowing even more fiercely. He poked at it with a finger. Jagged pain flared, stabbing into his consciousness.

"Don't," Hilde gasped. "It's my burden."

_That mark channels the Light, in its purest form_, Christof said sadly. _Hilde has demon blood. She can usually manage the pain, but when she transforms fully it becomes unbearable._

"Why would you do this to yourself?" Lightbane growled. He pulled Hilde up, propping her up against a relatively clean section of the wall. Rummaging amongst the bodies, he managed to find a somewhat clean robe to wrap around her. She buttoned it gratefully, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath.

"I made a sacrifice to the Crusade, to take up the mark and to be a vehicle for the Light in a place of darkness." She opened her eyes, once again the pale fel green of earlier. "Arthas has been the monster destroying what happiness I've been able to find in this life. I knew what getting it entailed."

"Sorry, woman, but that's crazy."

"Is there nothing that you wouldn't have given everything for?" Hilde shook her head. "There must have been something, or you'd still be a corpse."

Lightbane looked away. Insistent images bubbled up in his mind. A thickly forested slope thronged with brilliant white wolves whining and howling in the distance. A muted thrashing and animal squealing close by. Guttural cackling coming closer, dark silhouettes blotting out the stars. He shook his head forcefully, shoving the images back.

_How long can you fight the memory of what you once were?_

"I don't want to know what I lost!" Lightbane screamed. "Do you hear me?" He slammed his fist against the wall, cracking the rigid ice. "I am a tool for the Master. I slay his enemies, and that's all that there is!"

Hilde reached out, taking both of Lightbane's hands. "I was there once. You can only exist in the eye of the storm for so long before you get flung out into the maelstrom again. Even here, the world will come crashing back in."

"Just shut up and let's get to the transporter," Lightbane growled. "It's just a little ways down the hall."

Hilde nodded and followed the stomping death knight. As they moved, the silence ahead became punctuated with scurrying and yells. Occasionally loud booms sounded, shaking the frozen floor. Finally, just ahead a glowing blue rune cut through the gloom. Lightbane whispered a small thanks under his breath and reached out to grab the warlock.

"Finally. Just hold onto me, woman. These things can be tricky."

"You can call me Hilde you know."

_No you can't!_ Christof snapped.

"Hilde then," Lightbane purred, feeling the paladin's anger. "I'm going to try the Upper Spire. If the Light really is with your cause, they should be that far by now."

Hilde put her arms awkwardly around him. Lightbane cleared his mind, feeling the runes energize around them.

_Is this going to work?_

A sharp crackling filled his ears. Cold seeped upwards, surrounding both figures. A bright flash burned through their eyes, and splintering ice crashed around them.

"Well now, look at this. Two more Scourge to practice on."


	6. Sacrifice

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Hilde raged, stalking behind the knot of Crusade-tabarded warriors. "I've already told you we had a deal with this death knight. Turn him loose immediately!"

Lightbane chuckled and shook his head, staring at the floor. They'd barely materialized in the transporter pad when they'd both been grabbed by Crusade forces. He'd been shocked to find them so far penetrated into the Master's domain so quickly. They'd even set up a small base camp on the ledge outside directly over the bloodstains left by Saurfang's demise. His first inclination had been to grab his sword, which unfortunately led to his being hastily shackled to the floor. His sword had been taken away, and now lay propped against the far wall. After a few moments consultation Hilde had been recognized and released by the captain in charge. He could see her legs striding back and forth across the corners of his vision as she loudly demanded his release.

"Was this your plan, paladin?" he asked drily, glancing around at the cracked walls of the inner spire. The three arching platforms to the Master's transporter remained intact, though the guardians all lay dead around them. Occasional booms shook the floor, as the squads continued their work inside the halls. He noticed that the frozen coffins of the other marked Crusade women were lying propped against the main spire's walls, seemingly neglected in the fray.

_Of course not. I am a man of my word._

"Your word doesn't appear to mean much to these people."

_You would have had an easier time if you'd have been found by the fifth legion and not the first_, Christof said glumly. _The fifth is loyal to Hilde. The first was Alessandra Markova's company. She and its captain came up with the idea of using the sacred marks of the Light as a weapon against the Scourge._ Lightbane felt a surge of suspicion from the ghost. _I don't trust him, or her motives. If you'd seen the way Alessandra died, you'd have thought it was intentional._

"Captain Valentine, damn it, listen to me!" Hilde snapped, coming to a halt in front of Lightbane.

The Captain waved away his aides and turned towards her with a sigh, folding his arms with a metallic creak. His brown eyes behind the massive golden helm were cold. "Lady Hilde, we are in the middle of a full scale operation here. While we are grateful you managed to somehow," he laced the words with scorn, "escape your own idiocy in being captured, you are not in charge here. Highlord Fordring has tasked us with clearing the way to the Lich King, and we shall do it." 

"The Highlord would agree with me that we need to keep our word to this soldier," Hilde argued, flipping her tangled hair back. Her eyes blazed an angry green.

"You should be thankful you aren't shackled next to this aberration, my lady," Valentine answered. "It certainly would have been easier if you'd have just died honorably. But, it will be dealt with once the operation is over; both your death knight friend here, and the fact that you deserted your duty and got captured." He smiled thinly and grabbed her arm, throwing her down next to Lightbane. "Now sit down and shut your mouth until we have need of you."

"Ass," Hilde hissed, clenching her fists. Valentine gave her a mock salute, and moved off to his waiting men. A knot of soldiers surrounded them; faces staring stonily out into the spire.

"Your Crusade has a lot in common with the Scourge," Lightbane said drily. "Neither seems to trust someone taken by the other side."

Hilde sighed and leaned back, eyeing the weapons in their guard's hands. "I'm sorry it may take a bit longer then we thought. Valentine is difficult on the best days. Once Tirion hears, I am certain he'll release you."

"Naïve hope," Lightbane muttered. "So, desertion of duty? Did you try to run, little Light girl?"

Hilde fixed him with an angry glare. "I was fulfilling my obligations. Highlord Fordring assigned me and Alessandra to the detail guarding Lady Proudmoore's expedition into the citadel. That left the fifth unprotected while they began their feint against the Scourge. Stupid, crying, blubbering woman," Hilde snapped. "Her answers were not worth Alessandra's life. On the Skybreaker I heard the fifth was coming under heavy attack, and so I commandeered one of the flyers and went to their aide." She shrugged lightly. "Once the Scourge knew I was there, the fifth were able to escape. I didn't plan on getting captured."

An image flashed into Lightbane's mind, of Hilde standing on the rocky plain of Icecrown glacier. She was bloody; her clothes torn and her minions dead with Scourge closing in. In one hand burned an impossibly bright light; it was painful even in memory. He noticed a soft flicker around her body, even as she raised the brilliant weapon and charged forward.

_Yes, that was my hammer she had. It was her blood that created a bond with the weapon, and the power of the Light flowing through her allowed me to act. _He sensed an outflow of pride at the memory. _I made it so none of your weapons could touch her. My ultimate act of revenge against the Lich King, for all that he took._

"Sounds very touching. Glad you've convinced yourself of such a noble intent."

"What?" Hilde gasped.

_Hahahaha! _

Lightbane felt Christof snort inside his mind. "Nothing, not you. Your ghost friend."

Hilde stared at him, eyes narrowed sharply. "What's wrong, _death knight_, can't understand simple things like duty and honor anymore? I've spent my life exterminating the Scourge. I've lost nearly everyone close to me. I've had to put down my friends because of your "Master". I've watched them be tortured and slain only to rise up as mindless things!" She tossed her head at the row of iced coffins. "How dare you question my intentions?"

_So easy to direct. That must be why you were chosen for this unlife._

"You are no paladin!" Lightbane snapped.

_That makes two of us. It sickens me to feel you begging for the oblivion the Lich King gives. Be a man and remember what you were!_

Hilde sighed. "Christof, leave him alone. He fulfilled his part of the bargain, now we need to uphold ours. You needling him is not going to help."

A massive boom shook the spire. Flakes of ice speared downwards, crashing into the grating. On all sides the Crusade's forces swayed, vainly trying to keep to their feet. Hilde fell against Lightbane, unconsciously grabbing onto him as an ear-splitting roar cracked through the air. The cries rent the air with a murderous fury, punctuated by even more ferocious booms. A last hideous shriek tore through the air, shattering the walls around the frost halls before falling eerily silent.

"What was that?" Hilde gasped, pushing herself up. Lightbane raised his head, staring off towards the shattered ice.

"Sindragosa," he murmured.

"The dragon has fallen!" A crier came running from behind the debris, followed closely by a knot of grim-faced warriors. A great cheer went up from around the ring. The crier stopped momentarily, sucking in great lungfuls of air. He waved an ancient-looking ribbed horn in celebration several times before vanishing into the transporter. More Crusade forces began pouring out of the other halls. Lightbane noted Putricide's bloodied smock in the hands of one group, and the Blood Queen's tiara in another.

"They've all fallen," he said slowly, shocking tingeing his words. He noted that the Master's transporter was now glowing brightly, almost invitingly in the center of the spire.

_It seems too easy_, _the setup too elaborate. What is your Master planning?_

"He…he doesn't…"

"Tirion!" Hilde yelled, bolting to her feet. The transporter in front of them had burst into frenzied life, revealing the glowing paladin. Ashbringer in hand, Fordring strode off the platform straight towards the center of the spire. The pad flashed into life again, coalescing into the foreboding figure of Darion Morgraine. From all sides knots of the Crusade and Ebon Blade's fighters fell in behind them, resolutely marching towards the glittering pad. Hilde rushed past their guards towards the group. Fordring turned, dropping Ashbringer slightly as if to attack before recognizing the warlock.

"Hilde! Thank the Light you're safe."

"Highlord, please, before you go up…"

Fordring shook his head. "No, Hilde. This is not your fight. I swore to put an end to Arthas, and it shall be done, Light willing. You are the last of the Maidens of the Crusade. I won't risk your life any further."

Morgraine rolled his eyes, tapping his axe against his palm. "Are we going to do some fighting any time soon, Tirion? A throat is begging to be slit somewhere above us."

"Captain Valentine, please ensure the safety of Lady Hilde."

"Always, Highlord," Valentine said with a smile, bowing slightly. He came up behind the warlock, securely grabbing her arm.

Hilde was shoved aside by the massed warriors. She stared bloodlessly at the paladin, her lips twisting. They gained the pad and the glittering runes flashed; sending them upwards. Valentine dragged her backwards, tossing her down next to Lightbane. Glancing at her stunned face, Lightbane felt a gnawing sense of pity stir inside his heart.

"I don't understand. I won't even get to see…All I've dreamed of was to see him die."

Lightbane tried to pat her comfortingly, only to snap up against the rigid chains. "It'll be better not to see what the Master does to them. Everything they've killed he'll only raise once he has the time."

"Have you thought of what would happen if they win?" Hilde managed finally, her fingers twisting together. "I don't understand, what has it all been for if I can't see this final battle?"

"The Lich King is beyond all understanding. He is power beyond even the Light," Lightbane said, sadness dredging up from somewhere deep inside.

_Sadness from you? _

"Maybe I don't like seeing a woman upset," Lightbane muttered. A memory floated on the edge of his consciousness; a woman with frizzy brown hair, weeping copiously at his feet. The image churned his stomach. He turned away from Hilde's bloodless face, fixing his gaze on the center spire.

_Something is wrong_. Christof's urgent thought shot through his mind.

The second wave of soldiers was approaching the glittering transporter pad when ribbons of necrotic energy shot down from high above. The tendrils slid along the floor, hissing and spitting at the fighters. Valentine ran forward, calling for the soldiers to retreat. A boom rattled the floor, knocking them off their feet. Thick showers of ice hurtled down from above, smashing into the screaming soldiers and knocking them into the surrounding abyss.

"Get back, damn it!" Valentine bellowed, pulling the armored men off the catwalks. "Stay back against the walls! The Highlord has engaged our enemy!"

The indigo tendrils reared back, and speared down into the frozen coffins piled negligently against the inner spire. They burned with violet fire; hideous blackness amassing behind the icy lids. Lightbane heard Hilde gasp beside him.

"No, Monster!" she screamed, leaping to her feet.

The coffins exploded with an ear-splitting retort. Shards of ice hurtled through the air, burying themselves into the flesh of the massed soldiers. Armor shredded like paper as paladins and warriors fell; their blood fountaining a brilliant crimson over the catwalks. Spell casters screamed, their cloth providing even less protection against the deadly projectiles. Hilde moved her hands quickly, summoning fire in a protective arc around them.

"Arise, slaves, and serve your master's will!" The cold voice boomed, walls rippling from the force. Like marionettes, the four slain Maidens of the Crusade stepped forward. Their bodies burned with frigid light; their eyes glittering with icy wrath. Hilde moaned softly as she squeezed her hands tight. Lightbane jerked hard at his chains, vainly seeking to rise.

Morag, the huge orc, swung her massive axe up to her shoulder. The crude stitching rejoining her head to her body flashed with power. She grunted viciously, licking her blackened lips. The thin silver rings decorating her tusks flashed as she laughed.

"Dogs! My axe hungers for your blood!"

"The Master hungers for you," Rue S'eryne, the small sindor'ei called. She licked her twin blades slowly. The marks of her torture still oozed from underneath her stained leather armor.

Ja'anna Whisperleaf, the dark night elf, stepped forward. "Our Master calls, and we obey." She tossed her dark hair, a bitter necrotic aura springing up around her.

Alessandra Markova joined the line, although her bloodless face showed marks of a fierce internal struggle. She grabbed at her head, nails gouging into flesh deeply. Her eyes marked the grouped soldiers, swiveling among their forms to pick out one in particular.

"Tobias," she called, panting with the effort. Her hand stretched out towards Valentine longingly. The paladin appeared to be swearing silently, his hand reaching out towards her. The glowing orbs of her eyes burned as she chuckled desperately.

"Tobias, it's time."

"Lessa, it's not complete!"

"Do it, Tobias!" Alessandra screamed, tearing at her face. Valentine leaped forward, waving his hammer. The other three maidens pulled back, hissing from the spearing brightness. A brilliant glow surrounded the Captain, driving back the shadowy tendrils.

"The Light commands your service, women of the Crusade!" he yelled. Fire erupted from their backs. The four women screamed, three in fury, one in relief as the light burned across their bodies. Valentine took another step forward, brandishing his hammer.

"You who took the ultimate oath, you who are instruments of the Light, must answer the call! The Light burns inside you! One who serves needs your power!"

The four women spun as one body until they face the inner spire. Their eyes began glowing with a vibrant golden light, completely driving out the sickening necrotic gleam. Fire shot through the remnants of their armor, burning through along the lines of their sacred marks. Warm gold surrounded their bodies, lifting them up into the air. Valentine let out a hoarse shout as the Light poured through their forms, spearing upwards into the darkness of the citadel.

_Hilde!_

Lightbane jerked his eyes away from the scene with effort, to find the warlock collapsed against the floor. She was muffling her screams against her arm and rocking back and forth. Lightbane tried to sidle a bit closer, only to be driven back by the furious sting of the hidden mark of the Light.

All around them, the surviving fighters were lifting their voices in praise and song. The overwhelming fire of the Light tore away the shadows of the inner spire, billowing up in a massive thread. Valentine was whooping in joy, waving his hammer. The women at the center continued their screams; changing in tone from pain to overwhelming joy.

A hollow boom shook the citadel, and huge chunks of ice and stone hurtled downwards. Valentine had to throw himself down to escape one of the larger pieces. The soldiers around the ring broke off their song, mutters and screams once again filling the air.

"It's not enough!" Valentine cried. He cast his eyes around, finally landing on the prone warlock. He shoved aside the soldiers in his way, finally grabbing onto Hilde and pulling her upright. She was retching uncontrollably, her eyes screwed tightly shut in pain.

"Your sisters are waiting, Lady Hilde," he snapped. Hilde pulled weakly against him as he dragged her across the catwalk. Lightbane lunged against the restraints, the screams inside his head nearly driving him insane. Valentine spun her around, gripping the nape of her robe firmly before shoving her forward. Hilde stumbled out of the robe, nearly collapsing before the brilliance of the Light wrapped around her body. Even from this distance Lightbane could see the fury of the Light writhing over her tattooed back. Hilde screamed wildly, her cries subsumed by the joyous shouts of the floating women around her. Fire billowed as a massive column of light shot forward and up, joining the others in the abyss above.

_Do something, help her!_ Christof screamed. _That much will kill her!_

"Shut up, I can't think!" Lightbane snapped. His arms moved of their own accord, slamming against the length of the restraints. "It's what she wanted, right? She said she knew the burden."

Lightbane could feel the ghost's frantic thoughts skittering through his mind. Part of him relished his pain, while a second, small core wanted to scream along with him.

_Please, _Christof said brokenly, _don't let her die this way._

"How does anyone mean this much to you?"

Abruptly Lightbane was flooded with images; emotions and sensations that overwhelmed him. A thousand small moments of happiness and love, pain, and fear. It felt as if the paladin was squeezing his soul and pouring the entirety of his life into his mind.

_I lost my wife and children when the Scourge came to Darkshire. I had nothing but the Light. Everything was darkness around me. I wanted to forget, and so I went north eagerly, hoping to die. _

Another image swam into Lightbane's mind, of a small girl with bright ivory hair, standing next to a stream. She looked ragged and afraid, but firm. She was holding a small wand and a spell book, standing resolute against a rushing undead.

_She was just another survivor we rescued from what was left of Lordaeron. Imagine my surprise when she wormed her way into my heart so quickly. She made me want to live again._ Christof stopped, and the memories vanished. _My memories are all I have. I'm not going to parade them for your amusement. Damn you if you won't help us!_

Lightbane looked back at the spire. The light was blinding around the five figures; their screams merging into a violent song of hope. Many of the surviving soldiers were on their knees, praying. He cast an eye quickly around. Several of the fallen were close by. Lightbane smiled coldly, focusing on the downed corpse of a large warrior.

"I never said I wouldn't help, paladin. I was just curious."

He reached out with his mind, feeling the runes carved into his armor burn into cold life. Vague tendrils of mist flowed forth from the shivering runes, wrapping around the closest slumped body. The tendrils pooled around the nose and mouth of the corpse before wicking out of sight.

Lightbane twitched his fingers, and the corpse began its reluctant movement. Its head lolled brokenly to one side as it rose; blood still dripping from the massive chest wound. Its eyes burned dimly, mouth agape bonelessly, as it turned to face him. Lightbane smiled again, pointing towards his sword.

The corpse hissed and moved sluggishly over to the wall. Lightbane concentrated hard, willing the corpse to pick it up. After an endless moment the corpse's hand moved; fingers wrapping around the hilt. Its head swiveled, vague hisses echoing from its hanging mouth as it began its slow walk back to the bound death knight.

_Faster!_ Christof urged.

"How fast do you think dead bodies can move?" Lightbane grunted. He held his hands apart as the corpse approached, nodding as it raised the sword. The sword glittered brightly, all its runes flaring into life.

A vast rumble shook the spire; an echoing, inhuman groan that shuddered to the very foundations of the citadel. The massive ball of light illuminating the inner citadel abruptly winked out. Lightbane felt his concentration snap, and the corpse collapsed. His sword slashed down, neatly severing the chain. Lightbane grabbed the weapon in relief, quickly shattering his remaining bonds.

It was the cries inside his head, punctuated by five distinct thuds that pulled his eyes to the center spire. Without the power of the Light to sustain them, the five maidens of the crusade were falling back against the harsh saronite grating of the catwalks. They hit with enough force to shake the rigid metal; bodies rolling and remaining still in the half-light. He could just see Captain Valentine venturing out onto the catwalk to poke at the supine forms with the tip of his hammer.

_Too late, by the Light, it's all over!_

Lightbane shoved his way through the mass of Crusade forces, most of which were staring upwards into the darkness. A few steps took him out onto the catwalk amidst the fallen women. Hilde had fallen nearly in the center. He knelt and gently turned her face upwards. Her empty eyes spoke volumes. Lightbane felt the paladin wail inside his mind. He reached out and smoothed her hair back.

Boots stalking into his eyesight made him glance upwards. Captain Valentine stood over them, his hammer resting lightly on his shoulder. He shook his head.

"It would have been easier if she'd have just died like the others."

"What the hell do you mean?" Lightbane felt Christof shove him aside to bark out at the other man. He felt an echo of the paladin's anger spring up inside him, causing his hand to clench tightly around his sword hilt.

Valentine shrugged. "Lessa and I knew, when the time came Highlord Fordring would need all the power of the Light to face the Lich King. He is too good a man to consider methods lacking in a certain amount of honor, so we did it for him." He turned and smiled at the still corpse of Alessandra lying just a few feet away. The woman looked at peace; a stark contrast to her countenance at her unholy rebirth. "Lessa found the way to harness and channel the Light's power. But the catch was full strength would kill anyone who bore the mark. No one, not even the Highlord, should be so close to the Light."

"So you deceived these women into taking the mark, for this?" Lightbane growled.

"We did what needed to be done to ensure the best chance for destroying the Lich King. And these women accepted the marks willingly."

"Without knowing what you planned for them!"

Valentine snorted. "You, of all people, shouldn't be so naïve. They should be grateful. They all got what they wanted. The Lich King will die because of their sacrifice, and that is all that matters." He sighed and tapped his hammer against his palm. "The one who truly suffered was my poor Lessa. The time for the final assault came, and she and this charmed witch were still breathing. She had to kill herself-she had to throw herself onto Frostmourne itself! That is true bravery!"

Lightbane stared at him as the paladin moved away to kneel next to Alessandra's body. He could barely choke back the combined rage of the ghost and himself. He glanced back down at Hilde's body. His hand moved automatically to close her empty eyes.

_I want him dead!_

"I can arrange that," Lightbane chuckled coldly. "A freebie, for being as much of a monster as I am." He took a firmer grip on his sword, shifting slightly to bring the paladin's back into full focus. He eyed the exposed hollows in the golden breastplate, steeling himself to charge.

It was the slight glitter that distracted him. Lightbane pushed past the ghost's frothing bloodlust to focus in more closely on the warlock's body. She'd landed with her left hand cupped around something that still glowed warmly. He reached down and forced open her hand. Buried against her palm were slivers of a shattered purple orb.

"Clever girl," Lightbane grinned.

_Why isn't he dead yet?_ Lightbane's hand flexed against the sword.

"Your woman took a page from you," Lightbane chuckled. "Look…those purple slivers."

_A soulstone!_ Christof whooped. _We can still save her!_

"They don't last forever. I can kill our friend over there, or I can save her. You choose, paladin."

_Save her. Get her back to the Argent Base camp. I'll deal with Valentine myself._

"You _are_ a crazy ghost." Lightbane sheathed his sword and slid his arms underneath Hilde's still body. His hands slipped in the mess of blood dripping from her back. With a grunt he stood up. For a brief moment he felt the paladin once again take control; long enough to place a light kiss on her forehead.

_Take care of her, death knight. On your word._

"For what it's worth."

Icy tendrils slid throughout his body. A translucent mist poured out from his armor, billowing rapidly upwards. The mist solidified into Christof's glowing form. He saluted the death knight and flowed towards Valentine. Lightbane gave him a brief nod before turning down the catwalk. He broke into a run as shouts erupted behind him. He grinned in vicious pleasure at Valentine's screams. The warriors rushing to Valentine's aide paid him little notice as he shoved through their midst. The moment his foot hit the transporter he willed them down, far, far down to the base of the citadel.

His vision cleared to reveal a full-scale Crusade encampment guarded by soldiers from both the Ebon Blade and the Crusade. All were focused up above. He briefly noted the other death knights holding their fists to their chests. His own heart throbbed dully, but he pushed the sensation away. It took only a moment to locate the mages huddled against the far wall. Lightbane slid to a stop before them, kicking the closest firmly.

"I need a portal to the base camp, now!"

"Allright, allright, no need to shout," the gnome grumped. He waved his arms importantly. The air hummed around his fingers. A bright blue portal resolved into being, shimmering with the image of the far-away camp.

"There you are, my lord. Wait a minute, is that the Lady Hilde?"

Lightbane snorted and jumped through. One moment the fetid stench of Icecrown surrounded him, and the next he was standing on the bright glacier. Tents and small lean-to's stretched out on all sides. The shouts of guards rang out as his presence was noticed. He stood stock still, watching the heavily armed guards converge.

He noticed with some relief that etched into the shoulderpads of the two guards rushing towards him was a large V. So this was the fifth legion that was so loyal to the warlock. They drew to a stop a few yards away, gasping at the bundle in his arms.

"The Lady Hilde needs medical attention."

"This way, my lord," the guards bowed, pointing towards the largest tent in the distance. Lightbane took a firmer grip on her body before following the soldiers across the snow. His eyes slid of their own accord to the west, to the vague haze of Icecrown Citadel far across the glacier.

_I did what I promised, you crazy paladin, in spite of myself. Damn you, what have you done to me?_


	7. Lightbane

The sounds of a raucous celebration penetrated the thin walls of the tent, drawing Lightbane slightly out of his reverie. It hadn't been long after he'd appeared with the Crusade's camp when he'd felt something snap; something that burned wickedly deep inside his soul. All the runes decorating his armor had flared into violent life and then died away to embers. A glance around at the few other death knights had shown similar reactions and a mirror to the shock he felt. Their master was gone.

It lasted only a few moments before a familiar billowing cold returned, but Lightbane couldn't deny what he felt. Somehow, the motley forces had put an end to their ruler. His fellow death knights had straightened and continued on their tasks but his emptiness continued.

_Blasted paladin, what did you do?_

His unease had directed him into the medical tent, filled to the brim with the wounded and dying. Priests ran ragged back and forth between the beds, beseeching the Light for aid in healing those who could be saved. Alchemists slaved over their bubbling potions, bringing quick end to the suffering of those beyond help. Through the chaos he'd gone automatically to the curtained-off alcove housing the warlock. They'd cleaned her up and treated her wounds, but she remained still and lifeless. One of the druid healers had been weeping in frustration when he appeared.

"By Elune, I cannot reach her!" She had wailed before fleeing out of the alcove.

Lightbane stared down at the warlock. Her skin was nearly as pale as her cold ivory hair. A light prodding against her shoulder proved she was still somewhat warm and pliable, although it was fading. No enchantment could last forever in keeping death at bay.

He'd lost track of time staring at her, until a touch at his elbow startled him. One of the priests had come in with a chair. He placed it next to the bedside, silently indicating it. Lightbane arched one of his brows, but took the offered seat. The priest bent over Hilde's still form, running his fingertips across her face and then down her chest. He reached under the sheets and took her limp hand, measuring the pulse.

"I am not versed in demon magic, but I don't believe Lady Hilde has much longer." The priest sighed. "We have sent a messenger to Highlord Fordring. I think he is the only one of us with the strength to pull her back from the darkness."

"If he's still alive," Lightbane muttered to himself.

"You are the one who rescued her, yes?" The priest asked. "It is good you are here. Perhaps your presence will help."

Lightbane snorted as the priest bowed and retreated out of the alcove. _I'm just here to avoid all of you. At least it's quiet in here._

He shifted on the chair, removing his sword to prop it against the tent walls. A few tugs and his gauntlets slipped off. Lightbane flexed his fingers in relief before unfastening his helm and laying it aside.

_I may as well be somewhat comfortable here._ He glanced back at the warlock. She hadn't moved, or even twitched since he'd been in the room. _Why that crazy ghost was so obsessed with you, I guess I'll never know. _He briefly flashed onto the image of her nailed to the wall of ice, and her defiant expression. _You do have spirit though._

Lightbane noticed that the priest had failed to tuck her arm back underneath the sheet. It hung silently in space; fingers slightly curled upwards. He sighed, cursing at himself, and took her hand in his cold grip. Her fingers were surprisingly callused for a spell caster.

_Can't hurt I guess. If things had been different, I'm sure I would have wanted someone with me when I died._

The images came without warning; a wave of sight and sensation that whipped away all sense of the now. Lightbane sucked in air; his nostrils full of the scent of dark forest loam and ears ringing with howls of hunting wolves. He felt strangely doubled, apart from the image of a young paladin confidently riding his charger through the deep woods of the Hinterlands.

He'd had a different name then. Lightbane felt that truth throughout his entire being. In his memory, the young paladin seemed almost insanely cocky riding into the darkness. His newly-minted armor glittered like a thousand stars. Even the armor on his charger was polished to an eye-paining gleam. The silvery forms of the wolves dodging between the trees held no more danger for him then placid cows back in Hillsbrad.

_Hillsbrad? Is that where I'm from?_

At his side was smallish woman with hugely frizzy brown hair. She was holding onto his stirrup, eagerly pointing up ahead. The marks of former tears still tracked down her dirty face.

"This way paladin, this is where they are. Those horrible slavers who kidnapped my dear children! Thank the Light I found you when I did!" She glanced up at him, her eyes huge and liquid. "One of your strength and power should have no problem routing them!"

"You're lucky we found each other, m'lady," he answered. "I was on my way back to Aerie Peak for the evening. The dwarves keep insisting there are dark deeds happening in their lands. Perhaps these slavers are what they meant."

Lightbane felt a cold chill around his heart as the memory progressed. He wanted to yell out a warning to his living self. The woman was too sure of herself and her helplessness. Only a green paladin would be fooled by the damsel in distress played so confidently. As they climbed higher and higher into the hills towards a slight campfire's glow, she abandoned all pretense of looking around in favor of urging him on ever faster.

They pulled to a stop just at the edge of the clearing. A large campfire blazed away in the center. Shadowy figures flitted around it, pacing back and forth between several wagons. Smaller figures sat in the center. The reek from the clearing was nearly overpowering; like a charnel house ripening in the hot sun. Lightbane watched his memory bid the woman to stay behind, and pull his hammer free.

_Was I truly so stupid not to see it?_

The young paladin charged into the clearing, swinging his hammer of the Light brazenly. As the hammer burned, Lightbane saw again the hideous faces of the Scourge gathered around the camp. The small figures were indeed children, but children empty of eye wholly preoccupied with chewing on their own ragged fingers. Dark robed figures exploded out of the wagons; a chorus of spells ramping up in a sibilant wave.

Lightbane felt his heart squeeze at the obvious terror racing across his doppelganger's face, but also a small flow of pride as he charged into the crowd. His hammer thundered down on the Scourge to shatter the undead bodies. The Light burned furiously, the beams scattering the chanting mass.

"Fools, I bring you a gift-wrapped present and you can't even manage to kill him quickly?" The brown-haired woman stepped into the light, her fingertips pointed at Lightbane's memory. The young paladin swung his charger around, spurring him into the darkness. Shadowy fire streaked out from her hands, slamming into his horse. The horse screamed as blood exploded through his armor. Lightbane watched the dying animal stumble and go over a sharp incline; sending both it and the crying paladin down the forested slope.

The thunder of their fall shook the trees, and scattered the prowling silver wolves. The two came to rest finally against an outcropping of rock. His charger kicked weakly, gutturally choking on his blood. The young paladin was trapped beneath the heavy animal, pinned in place as lights swam down from above.

"Light, help me please!" he screamed, shoving at the dead weight of his fallen horse. His hammer glowed uselessly out of reach further up the slope. The young paladin gasped, shoving and thrashing to no avail.

"Damn you it can't end this way! I can't be defeated by the forces of darkness! I am a paladin of the Light!"

"Your Light is far, far away, and can't hear your screams, little boy," a syrupy voice hissed. Lightbane watched his doppelganger strain to see the bobbing torchlight approaching. It was the frizzy-haired woman, accompanied by a floating monstrosity. It appeared to be a skeleton enrobed in violet robes that fluttered like the petals of an orchid. The lich seemed entirely involved with rubbing its squeaking bone fingers together. She paused briefly to kick his still-glowing hammer further away into the darkness. The wolves howled far in the distance. The scent of crushed loam and blood rose up in waves, choking Lightbane in memory.

The woman knelt at his side to deftly remove his helm. Her fingers ran over his face, wiping away the streams of blood. She absently put a finger in her mouth, sucking at the crimson drops. Lightbane watched himself flinch away.

"Paladin blood always tastes so sweet." She reached out to grab his chin, turning his eyes back towards her. "Oh no, little boy. No beseeching the stars for help either. There are no happy endings, no last minute saves in store. You don't get the luxury of pretending this isn't happening either."

"Hurry and be done with it," the Lich growled. "His stench offends me."

_This can't be the end!_ Lightbane felt his doppelganger's thoughts racing. _I'm too young to die. The Light is with me. I am a paladin of the Light. My way is just. My way is right! Why won't the Light help me? Why can't I feel it? Help me, someone! Don't let it end this way!_

The woman had pulled a long, needle-like dirk from underneath her robe. It shimmered in the starlight; a cold light that bounced across his frantic eyes. She flicked the tip against his neck, then down to tap against his breastplate. She reared up, the dirk flashing.

Lightbane watched the young paladin blanch, and then seem to gather himself. He spat at the woman, striking her in the face. She angrily paused and wiped away the spittle.

"For that, you will suffer boy!"

The dirk sliced down, tearing through his reinforced plate mail. The young paladin bucked as the sharp weapon found his heart. Blood poured upwards through the wound, obscuring the brightly gleaming armor. Lightbane watched him twitch, his eyes rolling upwards to the stars. The woman gestured, and more darkly-robed figures appeared. They bent over the paladin, lapping at the spilling blood. She snapped her fingers, and the figures bent low to grab onto the prone body. They pulled him effortlessly out from underneath his horse and started back up towards the blazing fire.

The images swam and finally resolved into a place Lightbane knew well. Archerus, the floating necrotic stronghold above the Plaguelands, re-birthplace of the Lich King's death knight forces. His paladin self was nearly unrecognizable in the bleak saronite armor of a death knight. His black hair hung limply over his face, covering the blazing blue-white eyes. Other undead moved around him. Two led in a shackled human male, while another presented him with his serrated rune sword.

_You are mine, my weapon with which to cleanse this world._

Lightbane knew the voice well. The cold tones of the Lich King could tear through all thought, could force the strongest will to bend to him. The younger version of himself had no chance. He watched the soldier take up the weapon and place it against the neck of the bound man. The man began to cry.

"Alexander, can't you recognize me? Your own brother! We played together in the orchards in Hillsbrad, we went to Stormwind together. Please, Alexander, don't do this!"

_They are weak!_ The Lich King trumpeted in his mind. _Slay him and leave behind all that chains you to their world. The Light betrayed you, but the Scourge saved you. Make the world of the Light pay for its treachery! Become my sword!_

Lightbane pushed away the image, forcing himself back to consciousness. The alcove was still silent in counter to the explosions and cheering filtering in from outside. He sighed. He didn't need to relive how he slaughtered his brother again. The memories from that day were still vivid. It had been exhilarating to feel boundlessly free, to enjoy the waves of hatred for the living that poured through him from his Master. Now, the memory simply made him slightly sick.

_Being on a leash is not freedom. But without the Master, what am I?_


	8. The Choice

Hilde was in an oppressive darkness, wrapped in a cocoon of purple energy. The demonic power sustaining her was bleeding away and allowing the inky blackness ever closer. She thrashed out, vainly trying to re-energize the shield. It was of no use. Her fingertips slid off like glass. Even reaching out to her demon half netted nothing. The emptiness scared her to the core.

_It won't be long now I guess. It was a long shot after all._

It was a grim memory. The instant she'd heard Alessandra and Valentine after the other maidens had reanimated it had all fallen into place. Morag and Rue being lured out of the camp. Ja'anna's transport going down in the Valley of Despair. And Alessandra's own "heroic" leap onto Frostmourne to buy them time to escape with Lady Proudmoore. All lies set up to ensure the maidens were dead and under the thumb of the Lich King when the time came. The blasted mark of the Light that she'd been so proud to receive was nothing but a brand; a death-mark she couldn't escape.

The shards created from capturing the Deathsworn's souls had leapt into her hands. She'd had brief moments to recite the ancient demonic and shape them to her will before Valentine had come for her. And then the pain had come; a suffering so vast that all consciousness was wiped away. Brilliant light had seared her eyes before she'd fallen into this suffocating blackness. There was nothing here; nothing save the thin pulsing of demonic power trickling away.

Hilde gritted her teeth, refusing to give in to her rising tide of despair. _What if they don't recognize the soulstone? There has to be a way to come back from this._ She stretched out to her demon blood, but again felt no response. The soulstone functioned from the deep connection between shadow energy and a warlock's demon half. If it was bleeding away and refused to answer, there was only one reason.

_The Light must hate the competition_, she thought drily. She curled herself into a ball as the vibrant indigo flickers continued to die away. Hilde closed her eyes, trying to dredge up some small comfort. It would all be over soon, finally.

It was a tremor in the blackness that forced her eyes open. The sense of a presence in the dark, reaching down towards her. She thrashed up; her fingertips raking the inky gloom. A warm glow was spreading from somewhere far away. Its tendrils shredded the blackness to wrap around her. Hilde laughed wildly. It was the Light, at last.

But as the tendrils attempted to tighten around her, they sparked off of the demonic aura. Her laughter died as the Light grew dimmer, beginning to recede. She reached out vainly. The fading demonic power around her sparked wildly. No wall was ever as firm as that between the two forces.

_I see_. Hilde glanced at the flickering purple aura, and then at the waiting Light._ I either follow my demon half into death, or…_ The Light blazed. Hilde sighed, stretching out for the brilliance. As her fingers touched the tendrils, the last of the demonic aura burned away. It wrapped around her securely, pulling her up and away from the blackness. She glanced back only once, at the final flickers of violet vanishing into the gloom.

_What have I done to save myself?_


	9. Resolution

Soft light met her eyes. Hilde blinked slowly, trying to adjust. She was on her back on something soft. There was the heavy weight of a hand on her head, and something cool holding onto her right hand. The cold vanished abruptly. Her eyes automatically sought out the shadow hovering over her. As her vision sharpened, she felt tears start in the corners of her eyes.

"Tirion," she whispered. The paladin smiled tiredly at her. His face was drawn; his hair even whiter then it had been before the battle. She could make out the dents and gouges to his golden armor in the candlelight. He looked to have come straight from the battlefield.

"Welcome back, sister."

Hilde pushed herself upright. Her body screamed in pain but obeyed. A quick glance to the right showed the death knight. He was seated nearby, seemingly engrossed in staring at the floor. It was odd seeing him there without his helm or gauntlets. She stretched out in her mind, but felt nothing. Christof was no longer with him. Hilde frowned slightly.

_If Christof isn't here, why is he?_

A thought flashed through her mind, and she turned back to Fordring. "Tirion, what happened? Did you reach Lord Bolvar? Is Prince Arthas…"

"The Lich King is dead." The paladin sighed tiredly. "And Bolver died at the Wrathgate." Hilde clenched her fists, the words drumming into her mind.

_Dead…he's dead. The Lich King is…wait a minute. And Bolvar died at the Wrathgate?_

"You mean Prince Arthas is dead, right?"

Tirion looked at her sternly. Hilde shook her head, slamming her fist onto the bed.

"I heard Uther and Lady Proudmoore in the Halls of Reflection. He said there always needed to be a Lich King to control the Scourge. If Prince Arthas is dead, someone needed to take that place." She broke off abruptly. "Lord Bolvar…"

"Died at the Wrathgate, Hilde, as far as everyone knows," Tirion said firmly. "Jaina won't reveal to anyone the contents of her conversation with Uther. And neither should you."

"I saw Lord Bolvar while I was being tortured. I saw what the dragon's fire did to him." Hilde broke off, moaning softly. "To be there forever…what a hideous fate."

"None of us can escape what the Light has planned for us. We must mourn our fallen and press onward. The Scourge is still a threat, even without the direct command of its King." Tirion stood, stretching tiredly. "You should rest now. I heard about what happened below with the other maidens of the crusade."

Hilde looked at him blankly. "What happened?"

Tirion frowned. "Don't you remember? It was the flood of strength from the five of you that enabled me to break the Lich King's trap."

Hilde shook her head. "I don't remember anything except…" she bit her lip. "Pain and fire…and joy too I guess."

Tirion laid his hand on her forehead gently. "We'll talk later." He nodded to Lightbane and vanished out into the tent. Hilde crossed her arms and closed her eyes. He was dead. The bastard who did so much to her was dead.

_And yet I'm still empty. Part of me is gone forever._ _And Christof…my guardian angel._ She glanced at the death knight. He was still staring downwards, seemingly oblivious. _So many things I wanted to know…to share with you finally. That's gone too._

"What's your name?" she asked. The death knight finally met her eyes. He wasn't bad looking compared to some of the knights she'd seen. His blue-white eyes were somewhat disconcerting, but no more so then hers.

"Lightbane. Alexander Lightbane."

"Alexander," she said slowly, testing the syllables. She laid back, feeling drowsiness sweep over her. There was time enough for questions and answers, and for figuring out exactly what had happened. For the moment, she craved sleep. She stretched out her hand towards the death knight.

"You can hold my hand again if you want," she said drowsily. For long moment she felt nothing. Then, just on the edge of sleep, the cool sensation returned to her hand. Hilde squeezed firmly before falling into a haze of dreams.

_Take good care of her, death knight_ flitted across Lightbane's mind; the distant echo wringing a slight smile from his lips.

_Damned paladin_, Lightbane thought fondly. He leaned back and closed his eyes, giving the warlock's hand a light squeeze in return. _Just look at what you've done._


	10. Epilogue

It had been barely a week since the Lich King's fall, but life had already returned to a normal routine within the Crusade's encampment. The Ebon Blade had withdrawn to the Shadow Vault to the northwest, and to Archerus in the Plaguelands. Even with the death of Arthas, Highlord Fordring had emphatically resisted dismantling the Crusade.

"The Scourge remains to be dealt with. The Argent Crusade will continue until the day Azeroth is free of its taint."

Lightbane had ghosted around the encampment. Once Hilde's recovery had been announced, the fifth legion had been very strict in keeping all comers away from her. Their dranaei commander had been particularly sharp in ordering him out. And so he'd been relegated to one of the posts across from the medical tent. The legionnaires respected his space, and rarely troubled him with random conversation.

He managed to catch sight of her a half-dozen times, including during the arrival of an envoy from Stormwind. After the envoy's departure, word ran rampant throughout the camp. The Lady Hilde had been summoned by King Wrynn. She was to leave within the next few days.

The bitterly cold morning of her departure, Lightbane was roused by one of the fifth legion. Most of the warriors were scurrying around, already beginning to line up in formation. The messenger saluted stiffly.

"The Lady Hilde requests your presence, m'lord."

Lightbane nodded and followed him into the medical tent. Most of the inhabitants had recovered, leaving it quiet in the early morning light. Hilde was standing at the far end, her rich green dress lighting up her eyes. She was still pale, but authority blazed from her in waves. Her hair was brushed straight down in an ivory waterfall over her back, save for small braids on either side of her neck. She dismissed the guard with a flick of her head. She captured Lightbane's eyes, gazing silently at him until the last tent flap dropped into place.

"I'm sorry we haven't been able to talk until now. The fifth is a bit overzealous," she chuckled softly.

"Well, there really isn't anything connecting us except that I happened to be the body that brought you here."

"Even so, I wanted to thank you. If it wasn't for you, I'd have died on that wall, or in the upper spire."

Lightbane snorted. "That was your paladin ghost, not me."

"If there wasn't some shred of who you used to be in there, it wouldn't have mattered. So thank you. Even if it was against your will."

Hilde smiled and stood on her tiptoes to place a small kiss on his cheek. Lightbane snapped his eyes forward; trying to simultaneously shrug off the gesture and savor it.

"You are leaving."

Hilde's eyes darkened, and she turned away. "Yes. King Wrynn demands an accounting of what happened in Icecrown. He asked for me specifically, I'm not sure why. But Highlord Fordring believes it would do me some good to spend some time in the south again. The warlocks there may be able to help me. Since the citadel…" she clenched one hand and drew in a long breath. "Anyway, I haven't been to Stormwind in years, since before I joined the Crusade." She patted the bag at her side. "Besides, I have a final duty to perform there."

Lightbane eyed the bag. It could only be one thing. He could sense the Light seething inside the fabric.

"Is that what I think it is?"

Hilde nodded. "It's time I think. Christof's hammer needs to be returned to the Cathedral of Light. I only hope he's finally at rest now that Arthas is dead." She tilted her head slightly. "What will you do?"

Lightbane glanced at the tent walls. "I've spoken to the Ebon Blade, but I'm not like the others anymore. They can hear our new Master, but I can't. I've thought of trying to find where I died, to discover more about who I used to be."

Hilde nodded as the trumpets blasted from outside. "Well, if you ever find yourself in Stormwind, please look me up." She smoothed back her hair with a sigh. "Take care of yourself, Alexander."

She'd gone a few steps past him when Lightbane cleared his throat loudly. Hilde paused, her eyebrow arching in his direction.

"You gave your paladin something once to remember you by," he growled, focusing his eyes above her head. Hilde smiled gently, reaching down and pulling out her small casting dagger. She brought it up sharply; the blade winking in the light as it sliced through her hair. A quick motion and she was holding one of her braids out to him. Lightbane took it gently; their fingers barely touching. He nodded at her in thanks. The braid curled around his fingers like a living thing, still warm.

The trumpets blazed again, and she was gone. As Lightbane stood in the empty tent, he could hear her speaking to the gathered troops, and the wild cheers of the fifth legion. His fingers moved of their own accord to lightly stroke the length of hair. The cries outside grew louder, punctuated by fanfare, before slowly dying away. Lightbane shook his head at the quiet, absently tucking the braid around his arm and down into his gauntlet.

_Hinterlands first, and then…perhaps I should see Stormwind again._


End file.
